


Table

by ideliagirl



Series: Jon and Sansa's Excellent Use of Furniture [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Domestic Fluff, No Incest, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 14:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10439508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideliagirl/pseuds/ideliagirl
Summary: Jon and Sansa have just bought their first house and it's moving day!Sansa's stuck on the phone, Jon wants to get her off (in more ways than one) and they have a history of making excellent use of the furniture.Oh, and there's Ryan Gosling!(not really) And beer! And a very lax set of rules as to whose clothes are whose!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tooth-rotting domestic fluff with what I'm hoping is good smut mixed in. A few other characters mentioned, but it is actually just Jon and Sansa. OOC Jon in that he has no problem saying panty-dropping suave things.

Sansa tucks a freshly washed strand of hair behind her ear and adjusts the phone to her other shoulder. While still on hold, she takes a look around the kitchen of her new home and can’t help but smile.

It’s a cute little house. Jon would cringe if she ever called it that as #1: he wouldn’t really want to live in anything called _cute_ and #2: it isn’t exactly _little_ , which is why they bought it.

It’s why they backed off group vacations to the tropics, drove fifteen-year old cars, took bag lunches to work and cooked most dinners at home. To save up for a _real_ house.

So they wouldn’t always have to cook in the tiny kitchen of their apartment, playing musical ‘oven door-fridge door-cabinet door’ and squeezing around each other while they made dinner. So they’d have somewhere to put Grandma Tully’s kitchen table other than crammed into a corner of their already very cozy living room.

With this house, they had room to move, room to grow. A backyard and another bedroom or two that they could use for…..whatever came up.

She shakes away that thought for the moment and makes a mental note to go look at paint samples tomorrow. Or Sunday, depending on how sore their muscles are from hauling their furniture today. She’s thinking of painting the kitchen walls mint green. Jon had turned up his nose at a green-walled kitchen, “Seriously, Sans? Why don’t we just wear bell-bottoms and sit down on our shag carpet to watch ‘All in the Family’?”

But she’s convinced that once he sees the paint color next to the black-and-white checkered floor sample and the shade of white she’ll use on the cabinets (that she’s yet to tell him _he’ll_ have to paint) he’ll love it. Or at least smile and kiss her cheek, which is his way of admitting she has a better design style than he does. Although he still has a black-light and a bean-bag chair, so how hard is it to have a better design style?

Right now, the kitchen itself is still in total disarray; the plates and silverware, pots and pans, cookbooks and family recipes, are all still in their boxes marked _KITCHEN_ and wrapped in bubble-wrap. With their owners too exhausted to unpack them. Too exhausted to do much besides eat carry-out pizza straight from the box.

But the table is here in the kitchen of _their_ house and that’s what is most important. It’s what she’s always wanted.

It used to be in the kitchen at Riverrun, and Sansa fondly remembers the many hours she spent sitting at it as a girl. She’d mix lemoncake batter and giggle while her grandmother regaled her with stories of how her refined ‘always-a-lady’ mother used to come home covered in mud after she’d spent all day hunting worms to use as bait during her and Uncle Brynden’s fishing jaunts down to the rivers.

As a teenager, Sansa had thrown that knowledge back in her mother’s face when Catelyn would harp at her to ‘ _act more like a lady’_. And it had usually shut her mother up, too.

But that ceased to work once Sansa was 17 and the Wintertown police had shown up at the Stark front door with their disheveled eldest daughter in tow, explaining they’d found her in the backseat of a parked and fogged-up car with ‘ _this one_ ’, pointing back to their son Robb’s equally disheveled best friend, who at least had the good sense to try to hide behind the stalwart cop.  

For years after that, even though he’d gone to Ned the next day and formally asked permission to date Sansa, Catelyn would give Jon the stink eye every chance she could.

But then four Christmases ago, Jon had gotten down on one knee, called Sansa ‘the most magnificent creature that ever lived’ and given her his Grandma Rhaella’s engagement ring. Cat had actually hugged him with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. It was a banner day at the Stark house.

Sansa wonders how her mother will feel about _this_ potential development. She runs her finger across the top of Grandma’s table, and suspects that the _table_ is the reason she’s been stuck on hold for the last 5 minutes.

The phone line shows life and she perks up. “Yes, hello, uh-huh…uh-huh.” She sighs. “Yes I understand, but my husband and I are in the process of moving and either I left it at work--which I took the day off from so we could move, or it’s packed in one of these boxes--and I guarantee you it will not be found anytime soon. And I’d really like to know today, which is why I was hoping that you could---“ silence again. “Hello? Hello?”

She hears the front door open and Jon’s boots echo against the hardwood floor of the hallway. He enters the kitchen holding a pizza box and a 6-pack of beer. _Prick._

“You know,” he starts, “I loved this house at first sight, it’s why I wanted us to buy it, but somehow it didn’t feel like ours until we got the furniture in it.” He stops to take in her appearance: freshly showered, and dressed in his boxer shorts and old Winterfell University Direwolves t-shirt. “You took a shower?”

She nods and points to the phone in her hand, mouthing ‘on-hold’.

“You couldn’t have waited for me?” He puts the box down on the table. “A shared shower would have been a great memory for our first day in the house. It could’ve wiped out the memory of Robb screaming after he dropped your dresser on his foot, and Margaery yelling from downstairs that we’re allowed to injure her husband so long as it doesn’t interfere with him ‘ _plowing her_ ’ tonight.” He pops a top off one of the beers. _Prick._ “Who are you on the phone with?”

She looks at him, exasperated. “Jon, I’m talking on the phone!”

He rounds the table to her side. “No you’re not, you’re on hold.”

“How did I marry someone who talks to people while they’re on the phone?” She rolls her eyes before she feels his arms encircle her waist. “It’s, like, one of my biggest pet peeves.”

“You’re on hold.” He gently slides her hair to the other shoulder and starts a slow journey of kisses down her neck. “And I don’t want you to be on the phone at all anymore, so why don’t you—“ he’s cut off when she holds up a finger and pulls her neck out of his reach, still leaving his arms around her waist. “Sansaaaaaa.”

“Yes, correct. Sansa Snow.” She sinks back into his chest, but her teeth are still on edge. “I explained that to the other woman. I understand about confidentiality, which is why I know it’s all automated, but I don’t have my key-in code.” She leans away again. “So I was wondering if I could just give you all my info—“ she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I’ll hold.”

Sansa looks back at Jon as her husband starts to whine _._ Like _legit_ …actually starts _to whine_. “You’re acting like a child.” He pouts and playfully stomps his feet on the floor. She lets out a chuckle, but her eyes go wide when she feels his fingers on her bare ass and her—okay, _his_ —boxer shorts falling to the floor. “Jon!”

“You’re not wearing any panties.” He clucks his tongue. “You wanted this to happen.”

“Uh, yeah.” She doesn’t really have an argument for that. “But not while I’m ON THE PHONE.”

He smiles saucily at her while he unbuttons his jeans. “You have about 30 seconds to get off that phone or it’s gonna turn into the kind of call people normally pay $2.99 a minute to hear.”

She snorts out a laugh before she turns serious again and holds the phone closer to her ear. “Yes, that would be great.” She shakes her head at him, indicating her words are directed to the phone and sees him yank off his boots. His jeans and boxers don’t stay on for more than two seconds after that.

“Yes. I will gladly re-verify all my info.” She feels one of his hands go to her already wet-and-aching folds, while the other goes up her—okay, _his—_ t shirt to caress her breast, squeezing it so his callouses brush her nipple. She moans and sidles further back into his groin.

“15 seconds, Sans. After that all you’ll be saying is ‘ _Harder, baby_ ’ and ‘ _Ooh Jon, your big cock fucks me so good I can’t even look at other men—even Ryan Gosling_ ’.” He places open, sucking kisses on her shoulders and back, and a hand moves up through her soft mane of hair. “Which I’m still sore about, by the way. I never would’ve taken you to see _La-La-Land_ if I’d known it was because you were sporting lady wood for silly Mr. Dancing Man.”

He tugs off her—okay, _his_ —t shirt and flings it into the corner. He begins to gently press her upper body down toward the-- _how ironic_ \--kitchen table, and her nipples harden further, not just from the exposure to the air. She grins when she sees the shirt he was wearing land in the corner too.

Just as she realizes how fucking horny and how fucking _ecstatic_ she is now that they’re both finally naked, she also realizes she’s back on the line. She clears her throat.

“Yes. Sansa Stark-Snow. Birthdate May 20, 1991. SSN# 847-xxxxxx, and my email is [StarkSnowflake@Winterfell.org](mailto:StarkSnowflake@Winterfell.org). Will it be today or……”

She lets out a silent gasp as her husband chooses that moment to slide his shockingly hard cock deep in her pussy. She looks back at him like he’s the devil. He just shrugs. “I did warn you.”

She white-knuckles the edge of the table and bites her lip before speaking again. “Anytime would be fine but today would be-” she chokes on a particularly good thrust, “AMAZING.”

Behind her, he chuckles with a smug grin on his ridiculously handsome face.

“Uh-huh, thank you.” She says into the phone and lets it clatter to the table. “I hate you.” She moans.

He moans back. “I don’t think that’s true, or else you wouldn’t have let me kiss you at 17, or fuck you at 18, or marry you at 22, or defile the kitchen of our new house with you at 25.”

She pulls herself up and her arm reaches back around his neck, turning her head to hotly accept his open kiss on her mouth. “Well…. maybe I just close my eyes and pretend you’re Ryan Gosling.”

He falters for a split second and laughs before kissing her hairline. “Smart-ass.”

She catches his eye and smiles at him. “I know for a fact you think my ass is more than just smart.”

His eyes squeeze shut and he groans, her hair lightly wrapping around his fist. “Listen to you, look at you. Do you know how beautiful you are, how perfect you are? Why do we ever talk on the phone? Or go to work? Or do anything but this?”

She leans in to bite his lower lip, “Because otherwise we’d have just moved into a cardboard box?” She lets her fingers run through his mop of silky curls. “I know what you mean, though. While you were gone to drop off Robb and Marg and get the pizza…… I missed you. I fucking _missed you.“_

“I couldn’t wait to be back home with you.” He chuckled lowly. “No TV hookup, no WiFi yet…just you waiting for me.”

“I couldn’t even stand for you to be away from me and our home for an hour……it’s why I put on your clothes, so I could smell you.” A perfect thrust causes her to rise up on her tiptoes and her breath hitches. “Did you see that I sent you four photos?”

“Yeah baby, but I was driving the old moving truck with the shoddy steering,” he gently pulls on her nipple and sucks her earlobe. “and you already tell me not to look at my phone while driving.”

“They were naked photos,” she pauses when he curses under his breath and his hand cups her cunt, the heel rubbing her clit. “and missing you was why I touched myself in the shower, thinking of your fingers instead of mine.”

His hand moves faster. “Fuck. Sansa, baby.”

“I stopped myself before I came, though.” She smiles lustfully at him when he stops everything at that confession. “There have only ever been two people who’ve made me come: me and you. Today…. our _first_ day in our _first_ house, that job is all yours, Jon Snow.”

He has to put a hand on the table to keep himself upright when his legs buckle slightly. “You’re trying to kill me,” he groans in between bruising kisses, “so you” _kiss_ “can live in this house” _kiss_ “with Ryan Gosling.”

She yanks on his hair. “Shut up about silly Mr. Dancing Man. If I ever saw him on the street, I’d scream at him how much I fucking adore my husband and then throw you down and ride you like a fucking commuter train.”

His eyebrows lift almost to his hairline and they both descend into laughter before he kisses her cheeks, then chin, then finally mouth. “I won’t take my job lightly then.”

He listens to her whimper beautifully when he pulls out of her and has to stop her hands when she tries to pull him back. Turning her around, he pushes her to sit on the table’s edge and watches enraptured as she slowly opens her legs for him.

“Now, the fingers you were imagining, they were _these_ fingers?” He wiggles the ones on his right hand and kneels down on the floor.

She giggles and blows a now sweat-damp strand of hair from her face. “Those exact ones.”

“And did they have any help?” He asks, a finger worshipfully stroking her folds, teasing her wet heat. “In your imagination?”

She bites her lower lip coyly and nods.

He stands again and fuses his lips to hers, but pulls back to bring their foreheads together before she can manage to suck his tongue into her mouth. “Your pussy always looks and feels amazing, Sans,” he stares into her eyes. “but I can never fucking get over how good you taste.”

With that, he kneels before her again and his mouth devours her dripping cunt.

Her upper body drops back to the table and she screams--glad they no longer have neighbors just through the wall. She yanks on his hair, smiling when she hears the moan he always lets out because he loves the feel of the pull on his scalp. “Jon, Jon, please don’t stop.”

He eases two fingers inside her so she won’t be without stimulation before removing his mouth long enough to rasp, “I won’t stop, not until you come against my tongue, baby.”

She lets out a sob. “Fuucckk.” When his lips suck on her clit again, her back jerks off the table then slowly falls back down, harsh exhales escaping her. She palms her own breasts, tugging on her hard and rosy pink nipples. “It won’t be long….. I’ve. Wanted. You. All. Damn. Day.”

His fingers and mouth do the trick mere seconds later. She shouts his name hoarsely, knocking the pizza box off the table as her hands fly out to grip the edge and she wraps her long legs around his neck.

Those legs eventually go limp and he kisses his way up her body, stopping so his tongue can lavish her navel. He must hear her mumbling about her ‘stupid brother and his stupid wife who _just didn’t wanna leave.’_ because he laughs and pecks a kiss to her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She pushes his inky black curls from his face. “Hope you don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

“Nope.” His fingertips trace circles on her belly, looking at her with a plea in his eyes. “I was kinda hoping you’d do that ‘ride me like a commuter train’ thing you mentioned.”

“Ooh yes, I can do that.” She affirms with glee as he gets off her eagerly and clears the table of the last remaining items, including the beer. _Prick_. “In fact, it’s precisely what I’ve wanted to do to you all day.”

He lays himself down on the table, holding out a hand to help her climb on. “If I’d known that I would’ve made Robb and Margaery _walk_ home.”

She giggles as she places a leg on each side of his body and smiles, lowering herself down to him. But they both stop laughing and smiling once his cock is fully sheathed inside her. All expressions relaxing in awe.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He whispers.

She nods, feeling like she could cry. “So, so good.” She exhales softly.

He guides her as she starts to rock back and forth over him, her mind too occupied with just remembering to breathe to do much else. They move like that for what seems an eternity; both sets of eyes squeezed shut, sweat beginning to sheen on their skin, exertion pinking her chest and neck. Faces turned up towards the clouds and decadent moans slipping past their lips.

When she can finally look down at him, their eyes lock. But he then has to turn his head away from her for a moment. She knows—because he’s told her--that he feels when she’s moving over him like this, it’s like looking at the sun: too good, too bright, and too hot to stare at for very long.

The steady, glorious push of his cock inside of her is still something she thanks every god ever worshiped that she gets to feel. But she loves that he doesn’t leave the outside of her unattended either.

His hands are on her hips but he can never leave them in one place. Soon, she feels them run up her belly and her sides, unintentionally tickling her a bit. Then they come down her back so he can take a handful of her ass. Then they make their way up to her waiting breasts.

And her breasts have always been a particular area where his hands can never stay solo without his mouth joining in. Sure enough, he soon sits up to take a pert nipple between his lips and her head drops limply, the curtain of her copper hair falling around him.

He looks up after a few minutes of them writhing against each other. “Sans….Sans, look at me.” He pushes her hair back and she dreamily opens her eyes to gaze into his. “We’re here. This is where we’ll have our life. I love you more than anything I ever thought I’d have or anything I ever hoped I’d have.”

She smiles and kisses his temple. “I love you, Jon. loveyouloveyouloveyou.”

“You make me the happiest man in the world.” He tells her, his voice breaking slightly. “The thought that I might ever have a chance to make you as happy—“

She interrupts him as his words cut through the fog. “ _Chance to_ make me happy?” She shakes her head and grabs his face. “Jon, you already _have_. You already _do_. You make me so happy, baby. And even if we _did_ just move into a cardboard box? I’d _still_ be so happy, because you’d be there with me.”

She kisses him. He fervently kisses her back, then nods firmly, telling her, “I’d be anywhere with you.”

“Good. I’m holding you to that.” She pulls his lip between her teeth and it makes him chuckle. “Now. I rode you like a commuter train, you better make me come like one.”

He lowers his thumb to her clit, pumps his hips up furiously, and very impressively does what she commands as his tongue circles her nipple. He joins her when he feels her slick walls clench around him and he curses a dirty declaration of love into the air.

Later, after their breathing evens out and they’ve kissed happily and lazily, they start gathering up their clothes.

“Hey, don’t get too used to wearing those clothes.” She points to him sternly as he buttons up his jeans. “I wouldn’t mind taking another shower,” she crinkles her nose. “and you kinda need one, too.”

“You sayin’ I stink, Sansa Snow?”

“No,” she comes to him and rubs a hand against his chest. “but a shared shower is the perfect opportunity for me to get down on _my_ knees.” She leans into the crook of his neck. “And I love your stink, Jon Snow.”

He begins to kiss his way down her neck and chest, but she stops him, twirling away under his arm.

“Nope. This kitchen’s a big enough disaster,” she giggles. “clean up the mess you started when you wouldn’t leave me alone on my phone call.”

He holds up his hands in defeat. “That thing I said about the way you taste?” He says, retrieving items from the floor as she slips on her--okay, _his-_ -shirt, “Well, I don’t know what you did, but baby, you taste exceedingly good today.”

“Thanks.” She hides her smile, remembering what she’d forgotten for a while. “Hand me my phone?”

He gives it to her. “Hey, I think I heard it ping for a message.” He states, taking a pull from his beer bottle. _Prick._

She opens the inbox, getting the answer she’s been expecting. “Huh. How ‘bout that.”

“What is it?” He tilts the bottle toward her phone.

“Nothing.” She shrugs, patting the table. “Not the first time this good old table has seen us use it like that.”

“Nope.” He laughs as he lifts himself up on the kitchen counter. “Not even the tenth time we’ve used it like that.”

She grins. “You know my all-time favorite time on this table?”

“Um…” he thinks for a moment and snaps his fingers like he has the answer. “Christmas we got engaged! When we got back to the apartment from your parents’ house.” He smiles and nods to himself. “Yep, we barely even made it through the front door.”

“Well, we did start taking each other’s clothes off in the hallway.” She reminds him. “But that wasn’t it. My all-time favorite was the night six weeks ago, when we found out our bid had been accepted on this house.”

He smiles as she comes over to stand between his legs. “That is a very good memory.” He winks at her. “With the sheer number of times, though, it might not be my _all-time_ favorite _._ ”

She kisses his nose. “I think it’ll _become_ your all-time favorite.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, I’m pretty sure it was _that_ night, on _that_ table, that THIS happened.” She holds up her phone for him to read the screen.

**RESULTS: S. Stark-Snow, Pregnancy: POSITIVE**.

He looks shocked. No, aliens-descending-on-mankind flabbergasted. “Seriously? Sansa, fucking SERIOUSLY?” He grabs her phone. “You’re sure?”

She laughs. “It’s why I was on hold for eternity with the clinic!”

He slides back off the counter. Without looking, he points to the six-pack container on the table. “You can’t have any beer.”

She glares at him. “I know that. _Prick_.” She spots the pizza box. “I am, however, going to eat most of our dinner.” She also looks at the table itself, thinking. “And call Robb and Marg to ply them with the news of a niece or nephew into agreeing to haul nursery furniture for us.”

She reaches for her phone, but he still hasn’t looked up from the screen.

“Hey.” She pulls his gaze away with her forefinger and smiles hopefully. “You’re happy?”

“Are you kidding?” His smile reaches his eyes which shine with joyful tears. “Sansa.” He kisses every square centimeter of her face. “I could never in a million years make you as happy as you’ve made me right now.”

She kisses him back, laughing. “Yes, you could. You already have.”

 

**THIRTY-THREE WEEKS LATER**

 

“I knew you’d be beautiful.” He says to the baby bundled in his arms. “You look exactly like your mother and she’s a total knock-out, so you had to be. But you couldn’t have looked a _little bit_ like me?” He smirks at Sansa before looking back to his 90 minutes-old daughter. “With you this pretty, how am I ever gonna convince anyone that _I’m_ your father, and not that S.O.B Ryan Gosling?”

“Smart-ass.” Sansa laughs and punches his leg with the fist still underneath her hospital blanket. “So, we each picked two names we liked and then said that after she was born we’d choose the name we thought best suited her.” She sits up and kisses the little one’s head. “Well, she needs a name. Preferably before my parents get here in what I’m assuming with light traffic will be--” she lifts his free arm and looks at his watch. “41 minutes.”

“Okay. I’ve been thinking and I know it’s unconventional…..“ he starts. “but given how she was conceived, and how we both found out she was on her way--“

“Jon.” She cuts him off and narrows her eyes. “We’re not naming our daughter ‘ _Table_ ’. It’s just not happening.” She shakes her head when he opens his mouth to argue. “My mother would disown all three of us.”

He looks down at the baby as she starts to coo. “Alright, how about as her middle name?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted a few comments here under the username idelia, but have never posted a fic before. Would love to be a part the Jonsa community of writers here on AO3 and gladly welcome any praise or constructive criticism you have to offer. Thanks!


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